Compile
by DJRabidPunk
Summary: From the Latin compilare, from com  together    pilare  to thrust down, pack . To make or compose from other materials or sources. A compiliation of Zukaang shorts.
1. Coward

Hiya! A lot of people that reviewed _Conventional Realities_ and _BNPP_ wanted me to stick with this pairing, so I have! And I'm **really** tired of seeing the same stinking fics on the front page, so I decided to jump back in the game.

I don't know how many of these there'll be, to be honest, but I'll try to stick with my one-a-week theme. And they'll hopefully be all around the same length? The pairings will undoubtably be Zukaang, but not all will focus on the couple aspect, see? Like this one is kind of...not nice.

This first one needs a little explanation. Instead of having like, a day or two, like in the first few episodes, Aang has a month to adjust to his new life in the Southern Water Tribe. This lets him get used to the Fire Nation's role a little bit, but also lets him stew in his own muck for a while. And then Zuko comes and is like GODZILLA, destorying the village 'n' shit. RAWR. XD

!CROSSDRESS WARNING! -snort- And this is kind of, um, dark? Yeah. And there's cursing. And maybe OOCness.

* * *

In the month before the Fire Nation ships arrived, Aang learned a lot.

The death of the Air Nomads and the ruthless hold of the Fire Nation on the other nations. The continuing hunt for him and the hope people have pinned to his return. The responsibility and guilt that hangs over his head because of his role in his people's fate. It's a ton of pressure, a ton of fear, and he crumples under it.

The decision to dress as a Water Tribe girl is a precaution. Sokka laughs in his face as he pulls on one of old Katara's dresses, but he has a chill of foreboding that won't go away whenever he sees the peak of that Fire Navy ship on the horizon. He tells himself he's protecting the innocent in this village- if they can't find him, they'll leave- but it's a deep-seated lie to hide his cowardice. But how much can he possibly do? He's a twelve year old who only has training in air bending. What good can that kind of Avatar do?

Katara wheedles the truth out of him eventually, about being the Avatar. And she starts to teach him what little water bending she knows, but none of his bending seems willing to work well. He knows he should meditate, deal with the whirl of negative emotions dragging him down, but they frighten him. He shoves them down with the daily tasks of the village.

He pulls his weight, at least, repairing nets and clothing, sharpening spears, cooking, and keeping the ice and fur huts in order. He can't hunt, but he watches the little ones and plays with them whenever someone else can't. Soon they ask for him by name, and he loves to spend time with them. The villagers distrust melts slowly, and soon he's nearly a part of the family.

Aang is in one of the huts, polishing a kettle with snow one afternoon. Once he's scrubbed it clean, he pauses, catching sight of his warped reflection. His hair has grown down to his earlobes, and a lock is pinned back from his face in a girlish style. His face is young enough to not really identify with either gender, his large eyes and haircut leaning more towards femininity. Katara's dress and coat hide any hint of masculinity in his shoulders, and lend to the idea of a chest. All in all, he'd have to be stripped in order to find out his true gender, and a hood and gloves hide his arrow tattoos well enough.

He hears a scream outside and drops the kettle, ducking under the hut's flap to look outside. Sokka stands on the wall surrounding the village, and Katara rushes up to him.

"Fire Nation ships, on the horizon! Aang, you'd better take the kids and hide." The smaller kids gather around him, clutching at his legs and whimpering. He herds them inside a hut, heart hammering in his throat. They're here for him, he's certain.

He hears screams and a huge, screeching squeal and then the ground shakes as he hears the ice wall breaking up outside- one of the little ones starts to cry. He holds the girl close and tries to hush her, but even when her face is pressed into his coat her sobs are loud in the impossibly silent village.

Footsteps crunched across the snow, and all the children gasped and huddled close, suddenly quiet. Aang swallowed as the footsteps paused, boots visible beneath the flap. A soldier, in Fire Nation uniform, ducks inside. He sweeps a careful eye over them, then leers at Aang. The hair on the back of his neck prickles with a sudden, awful fear that he's never considered before; he's heard of pirates raping village women, and who's to say the Fire Nation controls it's soldiers? It doesn't cross his mind that he's male and likely to be discovered in that situation- only that this man is capable of doing very terrible, terrible things to him or the children in his care.

He bares his teeth at the man as he comes closer, then sweeps up a snowball and flings it in his face. The children titter with laughter for a moment, and then the man roars with rage.

"Little wench!" He advances at Aang , then pauses and turns on the children with a wicked smile. They shrink back, quivering in fear of his spear. Aang is caught between two horrible choices- surrender, or let a child be hurt. The choice was obvious, and he stood with his hands up. The Fire Nation soldier grinned cheekily, grabbing Aang by the collar and tossing him easily outside.

He fell, sprawling in the snow, with rage, fear and humiliation equal and hot in his stomach. The man steps over Aang, blocking out sunlight with his silhouette.

"Now, little girl, are you going to cooperate?" His voice was sickly sweet and jeering, and Aang shoved himself to his feet, skittering back a few feet with bared teeth and a defiant jut of the chin.

"Go suck on an icicle, you creep!" The soldier smirks coldly, and Aang's blood chills.

"Fine. If that's how you want it." He turns and suddenly jabs his spear into the base of the wall of the igloo, and a crack appears, splintering up towards the roof and cracking ominously. He hears some of the children start to cry, and a crash as a hunk of ice falls inside.

"No!" He tries to rush forward, but the soldier catches the hood of his parka and throws him back again. He stumbles, overbalances, and falls to his knees. He watches the hut creak and crumble, the children screaming inside.

Resolve wells up like a lump of steel in his throat. He doesn't think about the stance he assumes, with his hands up and arms stiff. His chakra reaches out, latching on to the ice, and holds it. The effort is enormous, his back buckling as it seizes him, but hunks of ice freeze in midair, the igloo trembling slightly but stable now. He grits his teeth, shutting his eyes against the strain. Cold sweat prickles on his back, and his arms shake, threatening to send the whole structure tumbling.

"Katara!" he screams, anxious for her help. The soldier is gawking, and quickly shouts something to another man in Fire Nation uniform, who passes it down the line. A child breaks out from the wall the man's body creates in front of the hut door and runs to his mother.

"What's going on here?" A young, harsh voice demands, and a boy no older than sixteen elbows his way to the front of the gathering crowd. He's using every ounce of will he has now to hold up the igloo, and the boy distracts him as he crouches on level.

"Hey, water bender." He looks up, glaring and sweating, whole body close to quitting on him. The boy's eyes, one shrouded by a magnificent scar, go wide.

"An arrow," he breathes, and he reaches out and brushed the hair off of Aang's forehead. Katara rushes forward then, barreling into the soldier blocking the door. The kids stream out, gathering around her, and Aang lets the igloo go, collapsing with a harsh gasp. He lies on the ground for a moment, and then is wrenched up by the collar of his parka until his feet dangle off the ground. He struggles, but that bit of water bending has taken a lot out of him.

"An air bender, pretending to be a part of the water tribe? That's pretty clever. Too bad it didn't work. And I thought the tales always made you out to be male, Avatar?" Aang pants for a second, then rears back and spits in the boy's good eye. Spears and halberds surround him in a second, but the boy waves them off. Aang can see now, from the quality of his armor and the bearing he has, that's he's a prince. The boy wipes his eye slowly, then drops Aang and orders two soldiers to bind him. He's pushed towards the ship, panic welling under the fear and lending him new strength.

Sokka bursts from the crowd suddenly, decked in a warrior's face paint. The boy whirls, catching him in the stomach with a kick and snapping the spear he held out of the air, breaking it over his knee. Sokka lays sprawled in the snow, shock and horror on his face.

"We're taking the Avatar," the boy announced as he mounted the ramp back up into his ship, "and there's nothing you can do about it. Surrender, and we'll go easy on you." And with one terrified look back at Katara, Aang is shut up in the Fire Nation ship.

The boy catches his chin, yanking him up until they meet eyes. Despite his terror, Aang can't help but note the gold of his eyes and warm to it, remembering Kuzon.

"We'll see about you, Avatar. We'll see."

* * *

coughZUKO'SACREEPERcough. xd


	2. Christmas

I was going to post one of these every week, and then I realized- it's MOTHERFUCKING CHRISTMAS. I had to post something. So I wrote this little...blurb, thing. It's cute, I think. But I warn you that I know nothing of church or choirs or...anything. So if it's off, just say so, a'ight? And by the way. MERRY CHRISTMAS, ALL MY LOVELY LITTLE COCA-COLA READERS.

* * *

It was Christmas Eve, and amid the crowd of giggling boys trying to pull on their choir robes and practice carols a single black figure swooped like a fierce and angry rain cloud, asking anyone he saw,

"Have you seen Aang?" Boys shook their heads dumbly, then quickly moved away from the madman as he continued harassing kids. He caught sight of dark skin amongst the crowd, and he managed to reach out and pull Sokka out of the mass of children.

"Have you seen Aang? I can't find him anywhere, and we start in- twelve minutes." Sokka blinked very deliberately, then looked around.

"Uhm. Well, see, about Aang-" Zuko's keen mind sniffed out an evasive answer, and he gripped Sokka's shoulder hard, hazel eyes intensely driven.

"Sokka. I need to find Aang." Sokka deflated, then pointed westward.

"He's out on the stairs, but I wouldn't- Zuko!" But Zuko was gone, elbowing through the crowded dressing room. The western hallway of the church was deserted, except for a lone figure huddled on the steps.

Zuko rushed up, only to pause. Aang was sitting with his arms around his knees, bald head down and his sneakers poking out from below the white hem of his robes. The dim light from strung up bulbs made him look small and fragile, and Zuko tried not to think of the fatal disease eating away at this small boy.

"Aang." Jerking, Aang sat up and swiped hastily at his eyes. The tip of his nose was red, and there were dried tear tracks on his cheeks.

"Oh. Zuko." Hesitantly, Zuko sat down next to him on the steps, hands clasped.

"You okay?" Aang tried to give him a smile, but his lip wobbled dangerously and he sighed, rubbing his face with his sleeve. Zuko knew he should chastise Aang about the robe, but couldn't find the heart.

"I…Katara left me standing here. She practically ran away from me. I'm such an _idiot_." Zuko frowned, confused, and Aang pointed up. Strung across the ceiling was a rope of glittering garland, and a cluster of white berries hung right above their heads. Zuko winced.

"Oh. That…that sucks, man." Aang huffed, something between a laugh and a cough. Zuko set an tentative hand on Aang's shoulder.

"It'll be okay though. I mean, it's Christmas." Aang sighed wearily.

"Yeah. Probably my last one." Zuko went cold at the resignation in Aang's voice, and then liquid hot rage boiled in him.

"That- Just. Don't say that. You don't know, the leukemia-" Aang shook his head, and the words died in Zuko's throat.

"It's too deep- they can't cut it out, and the chemo isn't working. I'm tired of talking about it." Zuko sat back a little, frustrated but unwilling to walk away. He bumped his leg against Aang's.

"Fine. So did she give you a reason, or…?" Aang sat back too, looking up at the mistletoe above them.

"I said I wanted her to be the only person I'd ever kiss. She said she 'didn't like me like that'." Aang made little bunny fingers around his words, and Zuko saw another drop of water slide down his cheek.

"Hey. That's bullshit. You're awesome." Aang laughed for real this time, choking slightly on his humor. Zuko wrapped an arm around him, shaking him a little.

"Come on, you're gonna be up soon. Are you still nervous about your solo?" Aang shuddered, shrinking in on himself a little.

"Yeah, don't remind me. I feel like I'm gonna puke." Zuko snorted, getting up and helping Aang to his feet. They brushed dust off each other's clothes, but Zuko took hold of Aang's arm before he could walk away.

"Wha-" Zuko pointed up, eyebrows raised cheekily.

"Mistletoe. We have to." Aang's face, so pale these days, burst into a livid blush. For a moment his mouth hung open, and then he glanced around, nervously fiddling with his sleeve.

"We don't _have _to. It's just a stupid tradition." Even if he looked a little squeamish, Aang took a tiny step forward, and Zuko grinned down at him.

"Maybe I believe in stupid traditions." Aang bit his lip, a smile clearly hidden in his grey eyes.

"Maybe I do too." Zuko leaned down, cupping Aang's jaw with one hand. Their lips met briefly, the kiss soft and sweet before Zuko pulled away. Aang gripped his arm, trying to pull him back down, but Zuko laughed softly and tapped his watch.

"We only have five minutes. Break a leg." He strode back into the dressing room, and there was a strange, pre-concert hush over the room. Zuko grinned at them all, and they looked mildly disturbed.

"Come on, hurry up! We've only got five minutes til we have to be on stage. Duke, you haven't even got your robe on yet!" The room broke out into scrambles, and he herded the boys as best he could into their proper lines. They were ushered out on stage, lining up across the risers, and the lights went down in the audience only to come up on stage. Aang strode out onto the stage, by himself in the front as he carried a candle.

For a moment, seated in the front row, Zuko was sure that Aang would freeze. He stood in front of his microphone and looked out across the audience with wide, terrified eyes.

He took one breath,

and then he opened his mouth

and he _sang_.


	3. Float

This was originally a whole idea on it's own that's been condensed. So, yeah. It might suck or something. And there's OOCness for sure. But this is the first one that actually alludes to sex, so meh. I promise one, _at least_, will have sex in it.

By the way, Happy New Year, one and all!

* * *

It was Katara that barged into his office that blustery morning, a snapping frost creeping over his papers and floor as she stormed up to him, but it was worry that clouded her pretty face as her hands twisted together.

"Mind telling me why you're trying to freeze me into my chair?" he asked mildly, a flame jumping in his hand as he tried to melt the ice off the inner folds of his heavy robes. She frowned, tucking a lock of wild hair behind her ear. Now that he looks closer, he sees that the worry has been fraying her control for a while now, as her hair is lank and unbound, her clothes damp from nonstop bending practice. Even for a comparatively warm summer, they're having a spot of cold rain and wind, providing her with plenty to do.

"Aang's been meditating," she started, then paused, biting her lip. Zuko raised a brow, a bit amused.

"Aang does this often. It's not unusual." She frowned fitfully.

"Zuko, he's shut himself up in his room for three days now. He hasn't eaten or slept, and he won't even talk to me! And now he's barred the door, and I'm really worried. Please, can you go talk to him?" Zuko frowned, sitting back. If he was meditating for this long, it probably had something to do with the Spirit World. He said as much, but Katara started shaking her head before he could even get all the words out.

"He's just…sitting there. No glow, no weird bending. He doesn't even move." Zuko scowled slightly, then stood.

"I'll see what I can do, but I won't guarantee anything, Katara. You know how I am with words." That, at least, brought a wan and relieved smile to her face.

Before he climbed to the tall Northern tower of the palace, he shed the heavy Fire Lord robes that constricted his movements and changed into pants and a thick tunic to fight the cold wind that would rob warmth so high in the air. Then he started to climb the winding staircase that threaded it's way up to the high tower room that was reserved for Aang, mostly because no one else wanted it.

It had originally been an observatory, a high room with windows that opened to the elements so the stars could be seen at night. Aang liked it there, calm winds or not, because it reminded him of the Air temples and offered seclusion from bothersome people. Zuko tried to visit him there often, but it was hard going up the thousands of stairs.

He was panting, acutely aware that he was in need of more exercise but unable to fit it into his schedule, by the time he reached the door. He paused to catch his breath, then tried the handle. It was locked, and he sighed with a smile as he reached into his belt.

The lock practically sang as he picked it, clicking open easily after a short wiggling of tools. The door swung open soundlessly, and he tucked his picks back into his belt before stepping into the flow of air currents sweeping through the room.

Aang sat in front of a window, inches from the edge as he sat with his back straight and hands knotted in front of his stomach, legs folded elegantly. His eyes were closed, face blank, his monk's robes billowing lightly in the breeze. Zuko stepped up next to him, feeling the edge of stone beneath his toes. He glanced down, remarking his lack of fear with a slight frown.

Aang sighed, very quietly, next to him and relaxed, cradling his head in his hands. Zuko sat down, his legs dangling over the side of the tower.

"Is there something you want to talk about?" he asked lowly, tentative. Aang made a noise of dark amusement and looked up, kneading his temple with the heel of his palm. Zuko froze at the look in his eyes, the same color as the storm clouds swarming near the horizon. Iroh had put a healthy respect in him of spirits, their powers and attitudes, and the person looking out is not Aang, but swirling, incandescent spirits that threaten to breach the thin color of his eyes, and then he blinks. The spirits recede, and it's Aang again, Aang who yawns and continues rubbing his head, with premature age lines crinkling his eyes. Zuko's three, almost four years older, and he doesn't even have lines like that yet. Aang puts his chin on his fist and smiles wistfully at him, warm exhaustion clinging to his lanky frame.

"Many and none, Zuko. Many and none." Zuko smiles at the wry answer, knocking his knee with a fist.

"Come on, no wordplay. You know I can't keep up. Just spit it out." His brows draw together, and Aang sits up again, gazing out on the horizon, the city sprawling into a bright blur right up against the clouds. Again, he sighs. A bit of tired irritation scratches at Zuko, but he ignores it.

"I…I don't love Katara." Zuko very nearly reels, but the open air around him reminds him what could happen if he looses his balance. Aang's face is drawn and colorless, pain in his clenched jaw. Zuko can only stare in wordless confusion.

"…why? You two are…" he gestures, not even sure what he's trying to say, and Aang's mouth quirks.

"I know. For the longest time, she was my…root. My everything. She grounded me, and now I'm just up here by myself, floating. I don't know how to get back down." He closes his eyes, bitterness in his drawn and trembling lips. Zuko squeezes his shoulder, a sympathy pain like a malicious spirit clawing at him from the inside. He's reminded vividly of his fallout with Mai, how her apathy and his passion clashed terrifically in one final fight. Even if it was impossible to dissolve their marriage, they rarely saw each other, and then it was only as friends.

Aang had been there for him, his warm smile easing his days of heartache, and it was that same smile and Sokka's plying insistence that convinced him to take a few concubines. Aang had shut the door to the Golden Sun Wing with a toothy grin and a wink that day.

Aang's breath now, though, catches, and he gently removes Zuko's hand from his shoulder. His fingers are overly-warm and thinner than he remembers, and he clenches his around Aang's, solid and stubborn. Aang smiles shakily, and Zuko can see the water clouding against his lower lashes.

"There is this…string. It's trying to hold me down, like a balloon, but it's thin and I don't know if it will save me. I'm so afraid, Zuko, that I'm going to get lost in spirits and musings and I'm just going to not come back some day." His voice clogs, and he presses his hand to his mouth, eyes fluttering against tears. Zuko scoots away from the edge and draws him into a fierce and protective hug, trying not to worry about how bony Aang feels under his clothes.

"I won't let you float away, Aang," he murmurs, his lips brushing Aang's temple as he speaks. Aang's whole body shivers, and he clenches his fingers in Zuko's tunic with a desperate sob. Zuko stays still in the timeless moments of Aang's tears, until they draw apart slightly and Aang swipes impatiently at his eyes.

"You don't know what you're saying by that, you don't, you can't possibly-" Zuko catches Aang's chin, tilting his face up. Those grey eyes go wide and apprehensive, and he tries subtly to ease out of Zuko's hold. Zuko doesn't let go, his eyes gauging. He's looked at Aang more times than he can count, but never really _looked. _He is so young, only seventeen, yet everything balances on his shoulders, has done so before, and he bears the weight much better than anyone else could. But with that power comes the weariness and hardship that comes with any kind of nobility, and it wears on Aang so much. Zuko yearns to do something about it, has for a while, and so has ignored his own feelings in favor of trying to help Aang, not trouble him with more problems.

And yet his problem is a solution, and it's kind of funny and ironic in a sick way. Zuko sighs, a true smile coming to his lips. Aang's face tightens slightly in fear, but he just shakes his head.

"I do, Aang. I want to help you. Just let me." Slowly, Aang's fear evaporates, and he looks up at Zuko with wide and amazed eyes.

"You…?"

"Me," Zuko replies, wry and bemused. Aang smiles and flings himself at Zuko, exuberant and happy as they hug again. The hug leads to a kiss, and when they lie together against the cold stone and the wind, every aggravation and anger they've ever held comes tearing out. They can be rough and tender with each other in ways they've never been with others, and it's a relief to float for a moment, because when they come back down, they're there for each other.


	4. Lemonade Bubblegum

This one's cute and then gets sad. Just so ya know.

And just a side note: In my master list, I've been organizing the ideas for these one-shots by letters. I'm running out of letters. They're like stinking potato chips; I can't write just one! XD

* * *

It was a dive of a place; long-time grit crusted up in the corners of everything and the dried gum under the tables was as hard as cement. But Zuko was starving and sweaty, hardly in a state to be picky about his food. He slumped into the squeaky booth and instantly, there was a small chime in the back as a boy, perhaps fifteen by his height and the awkward length of his limbs, skated out from the kitchen, around the long counter and up to his table. His movements were elegant and practiced as he laughed at something the cook said, and he slid to an easy stop at Zuko's table, his hip bumping the table lightly.

He pulled a small notepad out of his sweater pocket, a pen from behind his ear, snapped his gum, and smiled.

"What can I getcha?" Zuko stared, open mouthed.

The kid was gawky and yet somehow pretty, with an open, fair face with large grey eyes and a plush mouth. His hair, plain brown, stuck up in a way no gel could master, like a Chocobo. His slouchy orange sweater and brown corduroys were big enough to fill out his narrow frame, and he swayed slightly on scuffed, four-wheeled skates.

While Zuko was usually terminally straight, this little kid was an unintentional smorgasbord of all the things he found attractive in males. And he was asking what he could get Zuko. There were an awful lot of things, but he bet none of them were on the menu.

"Uh. You're skating," his mouth supplied. He felt just a little dumb and tired at this, because the boy frowned and plunked into the seat across from him. He stacked his fists on top of each other and then set his chin on them, staring with a thoughtful and sympathetic frown.

"You look like you haven't slept in days. Look at the menu for a sec- I'll be right back." And he glided away. Zuko glanced at the laminated menu on the table, then fussily moved the salt and pepper shakers until they suited his OCD.

After a few minutes, the kid whizzed back with two steaming cups in his hands. He set the first in front of Zuko and sits down with his own, taking a dozen or so sugar packets and dumping them into his cup. Zuko cradled the hot ceramic mug in his hands, grateful for the warmth.

"Thank you, but I didn't-" The kid waved him off as he took a cautious sip.

"'S on me. I'm Aang, by the way." He grinned winningly, and a dimple appeared next to his mouth. Zuko took a gulp of the scalding black coffee. When he regained feeling in his tongue, he murmured,

"Zuko," and succumbs to a coffee-induced lull of satisfaction. After a moment, Aang spoke.

"We don't get a lot of travelers out here. Where are you from?" Zuko's skin prickles with alarm at the question, and he sets his cup down briskly.

"Not around here, that's for sure." Aang smiles. Then he perks, popping his gum again, and takes out his notepad again.

"You wanna order?" Zuko gives him a rare half-smile and picks something at random off the menu. Aang sweeps off behind the counter, pinning the sheet of paper on a spinning rack. The restaurant is deserted, the only noise those coming from the kitchen and the radio filled with static overhead.

Aang moves to sit down again, pauses, and begins a continuous circuit around the counter, always keeping Zuko in view. He's fidgety and energetic, but a bit shy- whenever Zuko tries to make eye contact, his eyes flicker away.

"So what are you doing out here? It's kind of not on the way to anything." Zuko shrugs. He doesn't want to admit that he's running, holing up wherever Azula is least likely to look for him.

"Just wanted to look around. Need something to eat after riding all day." He watches Aang's eyes slide to the window, and then he stops moving, eyes riveted and jaw slack. Slowly he turns his body to look closer, crawling into the booth to press his nose to the glass. Finally he turns to Zuko, eyes bright.

"That's _yours_?" He hides his smile in his coffee cup.

"Mhm. Her name's Blue Spirit." Aang grins and turns to look one last time. His motorcycle is one point of true pride, and his freedom. Even when still, she holds kinetic energy in every sharp angle and gleaming piece of metal. Then the cook calls Aang back, and he sweeps around and picks up Zuko's plate, depositing it in front of him before grabbing the edge of the table and yanking himself to stop, then swinging into the booth. Zuko digs into his hot roast beef sandwich with an inappropriate amount of enthusiasm.

"You're running from something, right?" Zuko pauses, looking up. Aang sits with his head propped on a fist, quietly curious. He swallows, then wipes his mouth with a napkin.

"I…yeah." Aang nods.

"I recognize the look. I had it myself, not too long ago." Zuko regards him with a shrewd eye. There's nervousness written into the corner of his mouth, and he hears the sound of Aang's skates sweeping across the floor. The stare at each other with mounting static tension before Zuko snaps suddenly,

"What?" Aang bites his lip and looks down.

"I…well. I had a friend help me out when I ran away. Maybe someone could help you. Maybe I could help." He looks up again, and his grey eyes are steely, determined.

Zuko smiles slowly, oddly warmed. No one's ever cared enough to try and help him before, except for Mai, in her small ways, and his mother.

"Thanks. But I can handle on my own." Aang frowns and twists his hands together.

"What if you get in a crash or something? Who are you going to call? Or what if someone tries to rob you?" He reaches under his shirt at the small of his back and draws a long knife from it's hidden sheath. He flashes the blade at Aang, whose eyes widen, then twirls it between his fingers, sheathes it, and bites into his sandwich again. The boy glares.

"What about a contact?" He rolls his eyes, slightly exasperated.

"What do you care? I'm just a drifter, here for a meal and then gone." Aang scrunches his nose, reaching up to worry his lip between thumb and forefinger. Zuko's eyes cling hungrily to the movement.

"I feel like we have a lot in common. We could be friends, in different circumstances." And here Zuko's guard goes up. He can't afford friends that he can't carry with him, because Azula won't be merciful if she finds them.

"I can't have friends. I'm running from something dangerous." Aang sighs and reaches across the table. He almost draws back, but Aang's hand is gentle on his. He has calluses, which is surprising. He scrawls seven numbers across the inside of his wrist.

When he withdraws, Aang's warmth still lingers on his skin. His glare is belligerent, but endearing.

"Thank you. Really. For everything." He's finished his sandwich and gets up. He drops a ten onto the table and waits for Aang to climb to his feet, then tugs him forward. He rolls on his skates, and Zuko plucks a quick kiss from his surprised lips. Aang tastes like lemonade bubblegum.

"I'll see if I can't drift back this way sometime," he says, then grins and walks out. Aang's blushing, shocked face sticks with him even when Azula catches him and drags him back.


	5. Sploosh the Unicorn

This one is totally random, but it smacked me across the face so hard I had to write it. And then post it, because it's adorable and awesome.:D

* * *

"Wake up call!" Aang hollered cheerfully, prompting his boyfriend to growl and pull his comforter over his head. Aang quickly ripped the blanket off of the bed, making Zuko whine as he struggled to shrink away from the cold air into his pillow.

"Zuko! Wake up! Time for class!" Aang bounced the mattress a little, and Zuko kicked at him.

"Fine, I'm up, God." After rolling around like a fat bear with stubby legs on it's back for a minute, Zuko finally lumbered to his feet and straight to the bathroom. Aang began to chat to him through the door, but stopped when his eyes caught on something shiny that was half-stuffed under Zuko's bed.

He grabbed it, and quickly had a heart attack of pure what the fuck.

Zuko peeked his head out of the bathroom, and when he saw what Aang had in his hands, his toothbrush fell out of his mouth to clatter on the floor.

"Ah, tha- gneh." And Zuko ducked back into the bathroom, his face inflamed.

When Aang managed to reboot his brain, he instantly tried to beat down the door.

"Zuko! I _need_ an explanation for this! Do you secretly have a little girl living in your closet?" After a moment, Zuko cracked the door open and snatched the small, much-loved, tie-dyed unicorn plushie from Aang's hands and said,

"Shut _up_. If you tell anyone, especially Katara…" he let the threat dangle, and Aang nodded hurriedly, eager for the details. Zuko reluctantly came out of the bathroom with the unicorn, collapsing with a huff on his bed, face first.

"My mother was a very enthusiastic hippie. She thought I was gonna be a girl, so she made me this," he said, dangling the limp plushie by it's shiny fabric horn, "and when I turned out to be a boy, she decided that she wasn't going to press gender roles on her children and that I'd still get Sploosh."

"_Sploosh_? That's adorable." Zuko made "yap yap yap" motions at him with his hands, pressing his red face into his pillow.

"Same with Azula. She had a stuffed lion, and when she was old enough she switched to GI Joes. Which, now that I think about it, explains her excessively male tendencies."

"What?"

"My sister's kind of a shim, Aang."

"Oh. Yeah, I guess." Smiling, Aang wiggled up into the scant space between Zuko and the edge of the mattress. Zuko drew Sploosh up under his chest, hugging the little animal as his eyes drifted closed.

"So you're twenty years old and you still sleep with a stuffed animal? A unicorn, no less?" One golden eye opened to glare at him lazily.

"Aang." He sat up and propped his chin in his hands.

"Mm?"

"Shut up and let me sleep or kiss me." Smirking, Aang leaned down and gave Zuko a slow and sweet kiss.

And then he reached down and pulled the unicorn out of Zuko's hands, surprised by the alarmed yelp and swipe for the toy it earned him. He leaped off the bed and held it just out of reach.

"Come on, up! We have classes, we need to _go._"

"You're a dick," Zuko grumbled, and he locked himself into the bathroom once more.

Aang regarded the little black eyes of the unicorn for a minute, then smiled and gave it a little kiss.

"You raised the weirdest boy, Ursa."

Two days later, Aang went on the Internet. He'd been overcome with the sudden, desperate urge at two in the morning to trace Sploosh's history, and so he googled Zuko and Ursa to see if he couldn't find any baby pictures of his beloved.

Mai, Zuko's ex-girlfriend, liked taking and collecting pictures, and after they'd broken up, she'd posted everything potentially embarrassing she had to Facebook. God, how Aang loved the Internet.

The first few were _baby_ baby pictures, of a tiny infant with a sweaty-haired Ursa. Aang cooed appropriately, but moved on through a couple of months.

The first picture that featured Sploosh made Aang's heart nearly stop from absolute squee overload. Zuko was still tiny, a golden-eyed, grumpy-faced little five month old that looked to have finally gotten a moment of peace as he slept, curled around the unicorn that was nearly the same size as him. One chubby fist squeezed the toy close- the other was suckled into his mouth, and his little onesie-ed body folded almost into a ball.

Aang printed it out and hid it in his binder. If Zuko found it, he'd argue that Mondays sucked and he needed something to make him smile.

Sploosh continued through the first few years of pictures, amid wrapping paper on Christmas and sand box escapades. And then he was gone, and Zuko was in school photos or one in which he bared bracing-laden teeth at the camera, and he and Azula with trophies from judo competitions.

"Azula never let me live it down that my favorite toy was unicorn," a voice said from behind him, and he jumped. Zuko stood behind him, sipping tea out of ceramic mug. After a moment of nonplussed eyebrows and cheeky grins, he said brightly,

"I'm going to pretend you didn't look up my baby pictures and instead ask you if this tea has gone bad." Zuko offered the cup, and Aang took a sip before making a horrid face.

"Oh my God. That's like, bile. Throw it out." Zuko stares at it for a moment before shrugging and drinking some more. Aang's horrified face morphs into one of supreme disgust.

"You're uncle would shoot you if he saw you doing that." Again, Zuko shrugs and wanders back to bed. Aang turns back to the computer before looking at the ceiling and moaning,

"_So_ weird, Ursa. _So weird."_


	6. Bring Me to Life

AN: So. This idea has been stuck in my head for a long time, and the song always accompanied it. I've never written a song fic, before though, so if it's terrible, well, flameo. Also, I have no singing ability, so obviously the song is property of Evanescence.

_

* * *

/How can you see into my eyes, like open doors/

* * *

_

Azula stares straight at him, her eyes that familiar avian piercing amber, and Zuko doesn't flinch down like he has all those times in their childhood- he lets the tension unfurl from his shoulders and stands ready and confident.

"What's the matter, no lightening today? Afraid I'll redirect it?"

* * *

_/Leading you down into my core, where I've become so numb/

* * *

_

The lightening that rages through his body, the sacrifice he can't bring himself to regret. He falls, the shock still stinging down his nerve endings even as he feels himself slip under. He goes still.

Katara screams, but blue fire presses her back and back and back, and it takes all her ingenuity and strength to get Azula chained down. She rushes over to Zuko, but the smoldering wound is huge and even as the tears blur her vision she fumbles for his pulse.

* * *

_/without a soul, my spirit sleeping somewhere cold/

* * *

_

There is none. His body is already going cold in her hands, and all she can think of is _What is she going to say to Aang? What _can _she say?_

Sobbing, she gets a stretcher from the terrified servants and manages to waterbend it up into Appa's saddle. Her water is going wobbly and uneven, and she knows it's a bad idea to fly. But she has to get to Aang. There's a vague, horrible thought crowding in the back of her mind, and as she gets close to the sight of burnt forests she lets it bloom fully: Aang is the Avatar. Surely, for Zuko, he would be able to work out some kind of deal with the spirits?

* * *

_/Until you find it there and lead it back home/

* * *

_

When she lands, Aang's face lights up, and he starts to run to them, weariness but victory on his face. And then she lowers the stretcher and pulls Sokka into a needy hug, and he pauses, shock taking over his face, and then he sprints over.

He collapses to his knees and puts his hands on Zuko, fingers fluttering anxiously over his cheeks and chest, his hair and the closed eyelids. And then he looks up at Katara, and there is bone-deep shock and tears. He grips her skirt hard enough to yank her off balance.

"…How? Why? _Why?"_ She grips Sokka tightly for a moment and then manages to squeeze out,

"Azula shot lightening at me, and he tried to redirect it, but…" and she breaks. Sokka cradles her close, his own quiet tears soaking her hair.

Aang jerks to his feet suddenly, paces four vehement steps, then gets down again and assumes a meditation pose, only with a thumb on Zuko's forehead and the other on his chin. After a moment, he closes his damp eyes and his tattoos glow.

* * *

_/(Wake me up) Wake me up inside (I can't wake up) Wake me up inside/

* * *

_

The Spirit World is wet underfoot and full of pressing, almost alive fog that tangles around his legs and threatens to blind him. He can see a dark shape ahead of him, and as soon as he sees it, it abruptly turns and starts walking away.

"Wait!" Aang's crying still, the tears choking him, and he stumbles on unseen roots as he follows the figure through the mist. He's getting closer and closer, and he can hear it, it's calling out in the small voice of a child,

"Mother? Mother, where are you?" And suddenly, the mist clears, and ahead is a woman in white robes who smiles at the dark-haired little boy just out of Aang's reach and holds out her hands. The boy gives a cry of delight and rushes forward, hugging her desperately.

* * *

_/(Save me) Call my name and save me from the dark/

* * *

_

It is Zuko, his spirit still so young and bright. He literally shines with inner light in the Spirit World, and his mother pets his hair lovingly.

"Zuko, my darling." Zuko is crying silently from the shaking of his shoulders, and he pulls back, his face younger than Aang's and unscarred. He scrubs at his eyes and smiles.

"I've missed you, mother. I miss you so much…are…are we…" he's glancing around now, confusion and then realization dawning on his face. He spies his own face in the reflection of the water and jolts- it's the Blue Spirit mask that leers up at him, then his own scarred face that changes with each ripple of water. Still, his spirit stays unchanged.

"Yes, Zuko. We've passed into the Spirit World. But you're not destined to stay." He blinks at his mother in confusion.

"But…I want to stay with you." Aang's heart feels like it's threatening to stop, a thick clog in his throat and his head buzzing. He wants to cry out, get Zuko's attention, something, but he is stuck where he stands, the fog settling back in to swirl at his ankles. Zuko's mother looks up, her smile full of heartache, and beckons him with a finger. Dazed, Aang stumbles forward as Zuko turns.

After a second of confusion, Zuko's face lights with a vague recognition.

"I…I know you, right?" he asks shyly, curling to hide at his mother's side. Aang smiles, watery eyed.

"Yeah, Zuko. I'm your best friend. I came to take you back." Zuko scowls, the expression kittenish compared to the fully-grown version, and Aang chokes on a sob.

"Zuko, my love, you have to go back. You have many wonderful and brave things to do in your lifetime, and your time will come much later. My little Prince," she murmurs as she hugs him fiercely. He hugs her back, then turns to stare at Aang skeptically. His mother gives him a little push, but still he hesitates. Aang holds his arms out, his body shaking,

* * *

_/(Wake me up) Bid my blood to run (I can't wake up) before I come undone (Save me) Save me from the nothing I've become/

* * *

_

"Please, Zuko. I love you, come back to me, please." Zuko's face crumples in sadness, and he gives his mother one last kiss before he rushes forward and squeezes Aang hard, and suddenly it's the familiar young man in his arms and he nearly collapses with relief.

"Aang, you have to lead me back. I can't go on my own. And don't look back at me, or I'll be stuck." He nods against Zuko's neck and then turns swiftly, reaching blindly out to grab Zuko's hand.

* * *

_/Now that I know what I'm without, you can't just leave me/

* * *

_

They stumble blearily though the mist, water and trees, and when they finally reach the entrance point again Aang stops and nearly looks behind him. He has to go through first by himself, then draw Zuko's spirit up into his body from the outside, but he's desperately afraid that when he leaves this place Zuko won't be able to leave, will slip away. A squeeze to his hand, a kiss to the side of his neck, and then Zuko shoves him just a little. He closes his eyes and gasps, opening them again to be looking down at Zuko's pale, still face.

"Quick, Katara, heal him!" He's stuck with his thumbs on Zuko's body, the glowing tattoos all that is his tenuous hold on the Spirit World. Katara, for her credit, does as she's told quickly. When he's healed enough to live, Aang does the one think he's been told by Roku never to do- he kisses Zuko, lightly, and focuses on breathing a bit of his spirit into Zuko.

* * *

_/Breath into me and make me real/

* * *

_

At first there's no reaction.

* * *

_/Bring/

* * *

_

Then he can feel Zuko, the golden coil of his spirit, and he tugs at it desperately with his own.

* * *

_/Me/

* * *

_

It bubbles to the surface, taking a moment to settle,

* * *

_/To life./

* * *

_

And Zuko gasps, coughing furiously as everyone gathers close, amazed. Aang crushes him in a hug, and Zuko gives him a brief, breathless kiss.

"I knew you would find me," he murmurs, smiles, and then slips into a weary, but so very alive, sleep.


	7. Shooter

This is uber drama llama action, right here. It's a sort of...meh, ah, like, a post-apocolyspe type thing? In the future, obviously. Most of the things you would recognize are the same, but I don't know what role the Avatar plays in this world. Seriously. It's the most fail thing about this ficlet. And before this scene, Zuko had apparently made some sort of advance at Aang and was rejected.

* * *

The buck of the gun against his shoulder, the muffled sound of controlled explosions and the smell of burnt powder and the tattered target at the end of the range are the things Zuko's mind has narrowed to, anger and shame burning into concentration through a glass sieve. His shoulder is aching numb, his feet tense and cold, the dim lights making him ache for sleep, and yet he forces himself to continue practicing.

His clip runs out. He pauses long enough to flip the switch, the clip falling in a clatter to the floor as he slams another one into the chamber and secures it. He's firing again in the space of twenty seconds, the heavily armored dummy clanging as new bullets pierce it's armor.

Suddenly the door to the range opens, and the rush of new air makes him whirl, both eyes trained through the sight to the figure that stands frozen at the entrance.

He lets his muzzle drop slowly, breaking his stance with a sigh. He pulls his ear plugs out just as Aang says,

"Sheesh, I just came down here to shoot." He glares, though he's flushed, and turns back to his station. It's awkwardly quiet as he gathers up his ammo and spent clips, locking them into his ammo box. Aang hits a button, and his target comes clanking up the range to be examined.

"Wow. That's like, what, forty-five shots to the head?" Aang murmurs, impressed. Zuko shrugs, unable to meet his eyes as he gets the broom and starts to sweep spent rounds into a pile.

The soft sounds of a bowstring being unraveled make him look up. Aang has a length of dark wood bent, using his body to pin it, as he loops the bowstring over the end. It's long, nearly as long as Aang, but he wields it with such precision and ease that it's size isn't what's most intimidating about his bow. His stance strong and straight, Aang notches an arrow, his grey eyes focused on the paper target hung fifty yards away. With a slight twang, the arrow is released, and sails home into the middle of the target. Aang lets his stance fall and sighs.

"You know, I'm supposed to do all these things, save the world and all, but I can't seem able to do the one thing I should," he murmurs, then pauses, "well, two things." Zuko pretends he hasn't heard, but Aang continues speaking.

"I should kill your father." Zuko pauses, the glass threatening to shatter and spill everything over, the tether of control a fragile little thing.

"And I should take back my rejection," Aang murmurs. He can hear quiver in the young man's voice, the prophesized Avatar, and he turns slowly, the fires extinguished in him.

"…You shouldn't," is the first thing that comes out of his mouth. He instantly wants to punch himself, but the glass is still intact, and he has to think of everything, everyone, before himself.

"I'm not…good. I've turned before, and I could do it again. And choosing me, over Katara or…or anyone else would be…" he smoothes a hand over his trembling lips, trying to wipe away something that's not there.

"I'm stubborn and selfish, Aang- you're giving and fluid. We just don't- work! We can't, we never have-"

"We did," Aang interrupts, grey eyes piercing, as if he can see straight through Zuko, to all the things that are starting to boil under a shiny surface, "when you saved me from Zhao."

Zuko flinches, slinging his gun over his head, the strap holding that reassuring weight to him.

"That was the Blue Spirit. We're not the same." Aang looks surprised, and his boots crunch on cigarette butts, dirt and bits of metal as he strides towards Zuko. Where his instinct is to shy away, Zuko fights it and stands taller, chin defiant.

"You're right. Because I don't think the Blue Spirit would have spared Azula's life. Or shown kindness to that kid from the Kingdom. Or even-" He holds both hands out, aching for Aang to stop. He does, but his eyes are solemn and direct.

"You're good, Zuko. I _know_ you are. You wouldn't have turned away from Azula to come back here if you weren't." Zuko swallows, too aware of how hard he's clenching his teeth. Aang steps forward, gripping his wrists gently and turning his hands down. He nearly jerks out of Aang's hold when thin fingers slide between his own and clasp around his knuckles, calluses and tendons rough against his hands. He stares at their joined hands for a long moment before squeezing.

When Aang ducks his head down, to get in his line of vision, and smiles shyly up at him, he decides that it's past time for hesitation. He leans down and presses his lips to Aang's, and to his surprise Aang surges up into the kiss, mouth hot and eager, and he flips his hand out of Aang's to cup the back of his neck-

The door bursts open again, this time kicked in, and they can hear screams upstairs. A team of figures, dressed in black, marches in, but Zuko's already got his gun up and firing, the blasts supernaturally loud after the quiet. Two men fall- a third's helmet is speared through the lens with an arrow. He takes down two more, but the fourth guy only takes a sloppy shot to the shoulder. When he falls, he's at the perfect angle to blast Zuko with his shotgun, and he's unprepared and unprotected.

The blast thunders against his eardrums, and he has half a second to grit his teeth before a slug lodges itself in his ribs, then passes through, ripping flesh and blood and bone in one fell swoop. He falls to one knee, catching himself with a hand on the ground. The pain is dizzying but distant, and he raises his gun again to drop another soldier before a foot comes out of nowhere and breaks his nose with a deafening crunch and a warm gush of blood.

He hears Aang scream, babbling in the high tongue of Nomads with panic and rage. He can just make out the shape of his flailing body being held down by a group of soldiers, but Azula's legs block his view. He struggles to get his hands under him, to push himself off the ground, but a boot digs into his butchered side and he makes a strangled noise of pain.

"Leave him alone, you bitch!" Aang shrieks, bucking against the men holding him. Tears and sweat mingle on his skin, and they can hear someone sobbing upstairs. Azula laughs, a crooked and deep noise.

"Ah, little Avatar. Has Zuzu bent you to his will, maybe plowed you a few times? How disgusting." She slaps Aang across the face, her nails leaving furrows on his cheek. He spits at her feet, and her lip curls but otherwise she does nothing else but turn back to Zuko.

He's gotten to his knees, but the blood pooling on the floor is so thick that he can only think that he's moving by his spirit's will, not by anything left in him. He looks up at Azula, the glass sieve shattering with a tinkle of sound as he stares into pits of cold amber.

"You've won," he says hoarsely, unable to squeeze out enough volume for the others to hear. A slow smirk spreads on her face.

"But just know this, Azula- Mother was right when she called you a monster. I hope you choke on your own bullets." And he grins, blood staining his teeth, and shows her the one thing he's never had to use before. A grenade sits in his hand, the pin dangling from a finger. Her whole face falls, and he sees primal panic in her eyes. She scurries up the stairs and outside, the soldiers dragging Aang after her.

Zuko shuts his eyes and grinds the promise into the glass shards of his mind.

"_I will find you again, Aang. In the next life, I'll find you."_

* * *

I have no idea what the sieve is. Maybe Zuko's secretly civilized manner, trying to contain him? Idk, wtf. Just go with it. Maybe I shouldn't watch Prince of Persia before writing. XD And I'm going to say that Zuko thought, since he was going to die anyways (or so he thought...:3) he'd destroy all evidence they had of the Resistance's next move, too. Just so it's all logical 'n' junk.


	8. Batman

SUPER LATE. Aw, I'm so sorry guys, but I've been really absorbed in school lately. And there's the fact that Young Justice has completely ruined my life, like whoa. Anyways, in true nerd fashion, I've written this little tidbit. And I have absolutely nothing else to say for myself. XD

* * *

It was dark and very quiet in the cave as the Blue Spirit crept through it, soundlessly avoiding puddles. Ahead, he could see lights, and he drew his dual swords with only a whisper of metal on metal.

He passed out of the tunnel and into the main entrance to the cave, and suddenly lights flared brilliantly all around him. He stumbled, dazed, squinting against the brightness.

An armored hand chopped at his arm, sending one of his swords flying. He managed to fling up his other sword in time to block a hit that would have sent him sprawling, and he diverted his attackers force to the side hard enough to throw him off balance.

By now his vision had cleared, and he sees a man, no, a demon, shrouded in blackness with the head of a bat.

He knows the power of intimidation, preying on mortal fears, but for a moment he was stunned enough that he paused, and the man swept his feet out from under him and had his own sword held at his throat. The tip slowly moved up, threatening to unmask him.

Rolling recklessly away, the Blue Spirit reclaimed his fallen sword, but instead of attacking, he backed away, sheathing his sword and holding up his hands plaintively. The demon man frowns, his eyes white, as he pulls a drawing from his pocket and holds it out for the man to see.

Aang's face, smiling, is drawn on the scrap, and the demon stares at it, then him for a moment before striding towards the lighter end of the cave.

A giant, moving painting hangs from the wall, and as the demon pushes buttons the picture changes. A light runs over the drawing, and the images keep changing and changing until the image changes to Aang standing in a crowd, dressed in strange clothes and huddled in on himself, looking over his shoulder. There's a lurch in the Blue Spirit's stomach, and he nods thankfully to the demon man and turns to go.

"Wait." He turns back at the sharp, gravelly voice.

"You're bleeding. At least let me fix it." He glances down at the blood dripping down his arm onto the floor- a man with a knife that he'd had to fight on the way here had surprised him. After a moment, the Blue Spirit takes his proffered sword back and sheathes it with the other half, and he follows the man warily.

He is led to a metal table, and the man gestures that he sit on it. He rolls up his torn sleeve, revealing the deep gash. Now that they're in more light, he can see that the man simply wears a costume, like himself- gloves, armored shirt, boots, mask. He contemplates the usefulness of spikes on the outer forearm when the man presses a cotton puff to his cut, and a foreign, stinging pain sharpens his awareness. He jerks back, unable to suppress a hiss of pain. He pushes the man away with his foot, but his leg is pushed back down and his arm caught in an iron grip to hold him still.

"I'm cleaning it so it doesn't get infected. Hold still." He fidgets, tense. After a few more cotton pieces are soaked with blood and the cut has been satisfactorily cleaned, the man pulls out a metal hook and thread. He knows what those are for, but takes his glove off and reaches for it- he prefers to do his own stitches.

The sink of the metal through torn and aching flesh is somehow soothing, familiar, and he makes a fairly neat row of stitches to hold his cut to together until it heals. The man cuts the string for him, taking the hook back and cleaning it as Zuko puts his sleeve and gloves back in order.

"You've been at this for a long time, for someone so young," the man comments. He shrugs, and a hint of a smile gathers at the edge of the man's mouth.

"Don't you ever speak?" He pauses, head tilted questioningly. The similarities between him and the man are obvious, and he wonders, for a moment, if it would really hurt anyone if this one, helpful crusader knew who he was. It would help him to have at least one ally, wouldn't it?

He decides against it, and he shrugs. The man laughs, a deep, warm chuckle, and he slides off the table and starts towards the tunnel he came through.

"Wait. If you ever need some place to stay, medical care, call me." He tosses a slim black piece of shining rock at him, and he catches it. He has no idea what it is, but he slips it into his pocket anyways and gives a slight bow of thanks. The man bows back, surprisingly, and then he pours himself into the darkness again.

Two days later, the Blue Spirit is starving, weak, and fairly sure he's hallucinating. Fire keeps leaping out at him, even in the dark, dank depths of tunnels, and he can constantly hear voices that sound like Ozai and Azula, their hot breath on the back of his neck and sharp fingers prodding him from behind.

Finally he can't take it anymore. Every light looks like flames, and the darkness curls around his feet and whispers to him. He curls into a ball, hands flat to his ears, eyes squinted shut, trying to block it all out when he remembers the shiny rock.

Call him, the man had said. How the hell was he supposed to do that?

He finds a crack in the rock and it swings open when he pries a fingernail into it, and he sees a dark little mirror and an array of strange symbols. Suddenly the mirror lights, like the moving painting, and he nearly flings it away in hysteria as the light stabs his eyes, threatening to burn.

A voice slips out of the rock.

"Hello? Are you there?" He pulls the rock closer and stares at it, his breathing heavy and hands shaking.

"Hello?" He glances up, a sound stinging into his brain, and white eyes emerge from the darkness. A cool, familiar laugh curled out of the shadows, and he whined, the terror thick and clogging his brain.

"Hey, are you alright? Hello?" He flings the rock away, and as the fire and heat and darkness consume him, he screams.

When Zuko wakes, he feels drained of everything. Like the tide has washed him all away, until he's left with nothing but his bones.

A man's face, clean-cut and stern, gazes calmly down at him, and it takes him a long moment to realize that he's not wearing his mask.

Emotion surged back in a moment, along with memories- the terror, the choking worry, the slow effects of poison, and Aang.

He scrambles across the bed and is vaulting towards the door before the man catches him by the waist, bodily lifts him into the air, and throws him back into the bed. He lays there like a turtle on his back, stunned and breathless. The man points at him and glares.

"Don't do that again. You'll hurt yourself." He nods, dumb, and swallows as the man goes back to what he was doing, which was apparently cleaning Zuko's cuts. He tries not to hiss or shirk from the sting, but it was difficult not to make a noise when his emotions were bubbling dangerously close to the surface.

Finally he asked, his voice a nearly unintelligible rasp,

"How long have I been out?" The man handed him a glass of water, which he drank gratefully, the water soothing his aching throat.

"Thirteen hours." He choked, water spilling down his chin. He swiped it away impatiently.

"_Thirteen? _But why-"

"The toxin nearly killed you. You're fine now, so don't worry." He felt hot rage and determination well in him, and he grabbed the swab of cotton from the man's hand and flung it to the floor.

"I can't just sit here, Aang could be out there anywhere by now and I-" Suddenly there was a short knock on the door, and it swung open to reveal a familiar face.

"Bruce? I have those- Zuko!" And Aang flung himself into Zuko's arms, who hugged him fiercely in surprise and grateful relief. He gaped at the man over Aang's warm shoulder, and the man smiled, cocky but not unkind.

"You're welcome," he says smugly, and then leaves with a swagger in his step as Zuko kisses Aang fervently.


	9. Everything is a Mother&ing Dollar

**AN**: Was in the Dollar Tree the other day and came up with this idea. I'm sorry for those of you that were anticipating frequent updates, but I just can't even try to keep to a schedule anymore. I write when I feel like it, and if it's up here, well then, it's up here. There's also a prequel that needs to be here, but I don't feel like writing it now. Enjoy!

He doesn't know what the hell he was thinking, but apparently he thought at _some_ point that bringing an exuberant alien child to the _Dollar Tree_ was a _good_ idea.

It's not his fault, really. Military training combined with a fair amount of paranoia tell him he needs basic supplies for surviving unnoticed. A knife and rope, nondescript clothing, soap. Maybe to hold up the cash register for untracked bills. He knows Azula has the ones in his wallet marked. How could she not? It'd be just like her, to be four steps ahead of him before he even thinks of betraying her.

But bringing Aang, still fresh from the pressurization tank and completely fascinated by _everything_ he sees. Well. That was just stupid. He should have made him wait in the car. But there's a cigarette lighter in there.

Losing the kid in a blazing ball of fire, or suffering through his incessant amazement and excited blathering in that chattering language of his? Decisions, decisions.

Sighing to himself, Zuko simply hands Aang a basket.

"Pick up what you want and put it in the basket. Meet me back here in ten minutes," he says sternly, holding up his hands to demonstrate the number. Aang smiles, poking him in the palm.

"Ten," he repeats, the slight accent on his English oddly endearing, and then he shrugs Zuko's torn and bloodied hoodie, three sizes too big for his minute frame, back up onto his shoulder and becomes instantly absorbed in a pinwheel made of metallic, reflective paper.

Zuko takes his own basket and makes his way through the aisles. He doesn't hurry, but he isn't dallying around, either. He picks up socks and underwear in plastic packaging, two cheap shirts crumpling in the bottom of his basket. They don't sell sneakers here, but his aren't in such bad shape that he can't put them through a laundromat washing machine and wear them still. He refuses to even look at the sweatpants hanging forlornly on the rack. He will not wear anything but his jeans, even if they're flecked with blood and a little ripped at the cuffs.

He hears an airhorn go off shortly two aisles over, and a tinkling laugh. He rolls his eyes and tries to suppress the trickle of nervousness that courses coldly down his spine.

Sharp kitchen scissors and a pair of wicked looking hedge clippers go in next. Long matches for barbecues, and three fifty-foot loops of nylon rope, not that he thinks it'll hold. A lighter, in case the matches don't work. Dish soap and a pack of razors.

There's an earsplitting crash that makes the toothbrush in his hand creak inside it's now-crumbled plastic container. He hurries down the aisles to see a worker gaping at a porcelain bird-bath that lays in chunks on the floor, and Aang looks like he's going to bust a gut laughing.

Zuko scowls and grabs him by the wrist, hauling him closer. The amused curl of his lip disappears as he hunches his shoulders, looking guilty.

"You have to be _careful_," he warns softly, looking over the soft hands in his grip. No marks, no blood. The same for his bare ankles, which disappear into Zuko's old and careworn boots.

"You're going to have to pay for that," the employee barks, too loud in the near-silent store. He twitches.

"I'm sorry about that," he grits out, in an attempt to be normal. He can't draw attention to himself, or Aang. If they're noticed now, they're close enough to the compound that Azula could be here in time to get them. But there are certain things Zuko needs to get sooner, rather than later.

"I'll pay for it," he continues, "how much?" The employee, a middle-aged woman with frazzled black hair, tensed with a dark look gathering on her face.

"It's a _dollar_. Everything is a motherfucking _dollar_." He bristles at her tone, but obediently fishes out the dollar bill. Zuko determines, from the look on her face, that if there's anything else, they can get it later. Somewhere else, very far away. He seizes Aang's basket from the floor and takes it with him up to the register. Putting his own basket up on the counter, he takes a moment to look in Aang's.

It looks like a raccoon with ADHD went on a rampage, then stashed all it's loot in the basket. Most of it is shiny, useless baubles, like hair tinsel and Mardi Gras beads. Zuko takes those out and deposits them into a bin of other discarded items conveniently next to the register counter. There was a pleasant surprise in a Batman coloring book and a pack of neon colored markers. He let those be rung up. It'd at least entertain the kid in the car.

The only things left in the basket was an oversized pillow shaped like a unicorn, a very heavy sack of marbles, a CD of piano music called "Ivory Thunder", and Goldfish crackers. Before Zuko could discard the pillow, Aang snatched it out of his hands, babbled at him in an admonishing string of unfamiliar language, and then handed it to the cashier with a very charming smile. She smiled back reluctantly, and Zuko sighed at the ceiling.

He paid twenty eight ninety seven for their purchases, completely forgetting to steal in his sudden hurry to usher Aang out of the store. Because by the time he's started the car, the woman has turned to the tiny TV at her register, where Zuko's face is broadcasted to the public.

Turns out stealing an alien from the government isn't as easy (or as sane) as he thought it would be.


End file.
